Perfect Memory
by The Fallen Caryatid
Summary: The war has begun, threatening Ron and Hermione's love and Harry's sanity. People must be broken and sacrifices must be made, and the line between good and evil begins to blur. And just what role does Malfoy play? Story inspired by Remy Zero lyrics. Revie
1. Remember how they always seemed to know

Perfect Memory

By The Fallen Caryatid

PG-13

Ron/Hermione, other relationships yet to be decided.

Chapter One: "Remember how they always seemed to know"

_It hurts. It hurts so incredibly fucking much._ Ron forced his eyes open, allowing himself a small whimper as they slowly widened. He had been squeezing his eyes shut tight enough to make his face spasm, trying to shut out the pain. He had allowed himself to acclimate to the pain, and now that it was at bearable levels, he opened his eyes.

The world tilted on its side for a moment or two before seesawing back to its proper position. _Oh god, I'm going to be—_he bent over double and vomited on to the cold floor.

"I'm here too," rasped a voice from somewhere in corner of the room. Ron turned his head slowly to face it, mindful of his throbbing head. He was in a large cell, most likely a cellar of some sort, since he could see cold sunlight from a barred window over his head. The floor was packed dirt; the walls rough stone and there was no door.

He continued to turn around until he matched the voice to a pair of cool jade eyes. Ron closed his eyes again in shock and laughed weakly. "Hullo, Harry. Didn't expect to see you here."

"You didn't have to do this for me, Ron. You knew I'd end up here anyway." Harry gave a smile, but his emerald eyes remained empty. Harry leaned away from the wall he had propped himself up against and crawled on all fours towards Ron. It was obvious he didn't have enough energy to stand. He stopped in front of Ron and reached out for Ron, but his long-time friend only flinched away.

"It's always about you, isn't it, Harry?" The bitterness of old jealousy started to creep into his voice, and he struggled to throw it off. "I did it for her." He didn't bother to mention who 'she' was. Harry knew.

Harry looked apathetic to whatever sharpness lay in Ron's words and shrugged. "It's the same thing, isn't it?"

Ron felt like crying, or killing himself, or beating in Harry's disaffected face—he really wasn't sure which would be better. Harry was right—doing something for 'her' was the same as doing something for the Gryffindor heir. Ron sucked in air suddenly as the world swooned about him again. He must have been hit on the head harder than he thought…Ron leaned back and grumbled something to Harry. "So why are you here? I thought I was going to get to be the sacrificial lamb this time."

For a moment, Harry's eyes glittered with some of his old life and it looked like he might loose his temper, but they dulled over quickly enough. It was the same hollow look that Harry had carried with him for at least a year now. "I was called by him. It's time, Ron."

Before Ron could question The Golden Boy's cryptic words further, the door to the cell appeared and two masked figures stepped through. Harry slowly picked himself off the floor and then stood, swaying on his feet for a moment before ambling over to the Death Eaters. Ron stared after him, realizing how much his year-mate moved like a puppet whose strings were about to snap. One of the Death Eaters gripped Harry by the arm, and Harry seemed to lean almost gratefully into the support.

The second Death Eater strode over to Ron and hauled him to his feet. Ron wretched again at the sudden movement, but his stomach was already empty. His whole body protested any movement, but he forced himself to stay upright. Harry blearily gazed over to his friend. "They're going to let you go, as long as I stay here."

It figured; Harry would never pass up the chance to be flung into a fatal situation in place of someone else. It was probably some damn Savior-of-the-world mental complex. Ron frowned. "You didn't have to do that for me, Harry."

Harry issued out a hollow laugh that sounded more like a rasping cough. Blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth, and Ron realized that Harry was hurt much worse than he had let on. "I didn't do it for you. I did it for her." His smile was fading but still lingering on his too-pale face.

Ron blinked, trying to clear the pain-induced haze forming before his eyes. "Yes…Well, I suppose it's the same thing, isn't it?" Harry just gave another laugh, but Ron was distracted because he was shoved roughly shoved towards the door.

He was about to pass though the door when Harry suddenly pulled away from the Death Eater who was holding him and slumped onto Ron. Ron caught him in his arms, gasping from both the pain that collided through his nerves and the shock of how thin Harry had become. Harry clawed at the red head until his lips were even with the other's ear. "Drop to the left." Ron shot him a look of confusion but Harry only repeated the same. "Drop to the left."

Then strong arms came and wrenched the two apart and Ron was shoved to the left and directed down the hallway. Shafts of sunlight were visible playing across the floor ahead. Ron twisted his head around to look behind, seeing Harry lead the opposite way, descending into the darkness. He recalled Harry's last words. Not for the first time, the thought that Harry was insane slithered across his mind.

They rounded a corner and Ron paused to lean unsteadily on the wall. Bright sunlight was visible just ahead. He was in so much pain and the wand that was prodding one of the wounds on his chest wasn't helping. He thought about that for a second before he realized that his wand had been taken when he was captured. _Bloody hell—Harry left me his wand!_ Harry's wand had been covered with a thick layering of charms and spells about a year ago, so it was undetectable unless Harry wished it otherwise. _Bugger! How does he think he can face the Dark Lord without his wand?_

He didn't have time to think about it, though, because he was shoved forward again and once more he was riddled with pain.

The Death Eaters hung back in the shadows as Ron walked out into the sunshine. Looking around, he realized the exit to Voldemort's underground base was little more than a ramshackle wooden shed in the middle of a golden grass field. Around a hundred meters ahead a old, dark forest stretched on, and beyond that, jagged and imposing mountains tore at the too-blue sky.

He took one step and then another, and before long he was running for all he was worth for the forest. His battered body couldn't take much more abuse; but still he pressed on. He wouldn't feel better until he was within the safety of the trees. Suddenly, the Harry's words came to mind. Acting on instinct, he dropped to the left.

A jet of green light blazed by and towards the forest. Without giving it further thought, he hauled himself to his feet, shot a curse across over his shoulder and began to run again, feeling as though he would drop dead of exhaustion at any moment. There was a muffled yell behind him, his curse had found a mark. He was a few meters from the forest when the green light finally struck something ahead of him. It seemed to be an invisible wall of some sort; but in any case, the killing curse had torn a hole in it somehow. Ron leapt the last meter and tumbled through the hole as it closed up behind him.

He struggled to sit up and could see the Death Eaters in the distance stalking towards him. _I guess they only had to let me go, not let me live._ Ron struggled for another moment before realizing he could move anymore. _It hurts too much. Shit, it hurts just to breathe. What did they do to me?_ He struggled to think of what happened between the time he had been captured and when he woke up in the cell with Harry, but aside from a few random images and impressions, he was drawing a blank. Of course, if those few images were anything to go by, he didn't blame his subconscious for repressing it.

Ron blinked. The Death Eaters were close now; he could make out the details of their sneering masks. One had an obvious limp from Ron's poorly aimed spell, but his companion did not seem to notice and offered him no assistance as he fell behind.

Ron wasn't looking forward to witnessing his own death, so he was thankful when he the pain finally became too much and he slid into merciful darkness.

A/N:

This was inspired by the kick-ass music of Remy Zero. For those confused, all shall soon be explained.


	2. We had the forest in our eyes

Perfect Memory

By The Fallen Caryatid

PG-13

Ron/Hermione, other relationships yet to be decided.

Chapter Two: "We had the forest in our eyes"

He woke up in the cool shadows and pale green light. Ron hated forest light; it reminded him of her. A blurred face hovered over his; only golden eyes recognizable to his cloudy mind. He tried to say a name, but his voice failed him. He licked his lips and tried again. "Remus?"

His old professor sighed with relief. "Thank god you're awake. I was beginning to worry."

Everything came back to Ron in a rush. His capture, his torture…Harry in the cell, the wand, be chased, the final blackness… "Remus, it's Harry—he was taken away, he's going to try and face the Dark Lord alone!" Ron regretted the urgency in which he said this almost immediately, because he was rewarded with a stabbing in his side. Why hadn't Lupin healed him?

Remus Lupin glanced away, back across the golden field that met up to the emerald forest they were hidden in. Ron followed his gaze. Somewhere out there was the shed, and deep in that darkness was Harry. No matter what Harry had become, he was still his comrade. "Remus! What—look here! Harry doesn't have his wand, I don't think that…" He trailed off at the look werewolf was giving him. There was pity in those golden eyes. Pity that he didn't want, pity that reminded him of her—they had all looked at him like that, when she—"What." He snapped it out and surprised Lupin into speaking.

"It's Harry, Ron. He—he already met Voldemort. It's been hours since then. You've been out of it for hours."

Something clenched around Ron's heart. "No." The word was hardly more than a whisper and Ron's eyes were wide. "The prophecy. Which of them…the prophecy, Remus!"

Lupin gave a bitter smile, but there was joy in his eyes. "Voldemort is dead. Harry won the war."

Ron stared at the leaves and branches that twisted above, knotted as his insides felt. He could feel blood dripping down his side from some unrecognized wound. "He did it with out me. The bastard. Were you there?"

"Yes. But it was his war, Ron. We could only watch; there was nothing any of us could of done—" This ended in a choked sob. Ron was beginning to understand.

"No, no it wasn't. It wasn't his goddamned war! It was yours, and mine, and the Order's! It was never _Harry's_ war. You just made him believe that. What have you done? What have we all done?" Comprehension was horrible…and it was too damn much.

"I need to tell you, Ron. It's Harry, he—" There were tears flowing from those guilty golden orbs.

But Ron wasn't there anymore. He was already fading out again. "Lupin, you idiot!" He mumbled in fumbling gasps. "Why didn't you heal me?"

"I—I didn't have a wand, how—"

"Maybe not yours, but Harry's was with me. Where are the others? What's going on, if it's as late as you say, we should have re-grouped." Those last comments took whatever strength he had left. He laid back on the carpet of pine needles with a heavy sigh, allowing the pain to over take him.

Lupin sobbed all the harder. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. It's Harry, he—"

But Ron didn't hear anymore, because the shadows of his memories had already engulfed him.

A/N:

This was short because the next chapter will be long. Ron just keeps going unconscious, huh? Must be all the stress and you know, blows to the head. Next chapter will be flashback time. All shall be revealed!


	3. but the earth was in our clothes

Perfect Memory

PG-13

Ron/Hermione, other relationships yet to be decided.

Chapter Three: "But the earth was in our clothes"

_A year earlier…_

Ron opened his eyes with and gave an annoyed glance to his surroundings. He had been waiting for twenty minutes at least and there was still no sign of Hermione. Ron had long since abandoned his more childish fears of the forest, especially since in the daylight, it wasn't nearly as spooky. Besides, these days there were more terrible things to haunt his dreams than mere spiders in a forest.

He stood up and brush pine needles from his trousers and robes and glanced about. He was just inside the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest. Pale green light filtered through the trees, providing the illusion that he was underwater.

He absently pulled a few more pin needles from his hair. "Where could 'Mione be?" He grumbled to himself. "Probably stuck in the library again. With _Harry_." He said his long-time friend's name with obvious distaste.

He was caught off guard when two slim arms encircled him from behind. A warm body pressed up against his back. "Or maybe," spoke a melodic young woman's voice, "she was delayed because she stopped by the kitchens to pick you up a picnic."

"Oh," responded Ron wittily. He turned around and encircled Hermione in his arms. His head dipped down and his lips briefly met hers; she giggled as his unruly crimson locks brushed across her forehead.

"Here now," the curly haired girl gestured. "Let's have our picnic."

Ron helped Hermione layout the picnic blanket and food. The house elves had really out done themselves—sandwiches, chilled pumpkin juice, cookies, fruit, soup, and even ice cream—all his favorites were there.

Ron sighed with contentment; it was nice to be back at Hogwarts for a visit. With everyday that the war went on, it became more and more difficult for Ron and Hermione to accompany Harry on his mad quest for the Horecruxes. But they had returned to Hogwarts to meet with the Order, and it was so nice to be back among the familiar.

It was a beautiful day, his girl was at his side, there was good food, and he had watched a quidditch game earlier (Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff; somehow Hufflepuff actually won). What could make the day any better?

He watched the soft light of the forest play across Hermione's features. She was talking about her advanced Potions class. His mind was on other things, though. He knew, of course, what would make this day better.

As much as he loved Hermione, he missed the days of the inseparable dream team; Gryfindor's golden trio. Despite following around Harry wherever he asked them to go, Harry always seemed to prefer Hermione's company to his old friend Ron's. Lately, it had been worse than ever. Ever since they had come back to Hogwarts Ron and Harry had nothing but argument after argument.

"…and then I told Remus that he was a sexy beast and we had wild, crazy—"

"WHAATT?" Screeched Ron. Remus and Hermione! Hermione thought that Remus was sexy? When did _that_ happen?

Hermione sighed and took a bite of her ice cream. "I knew it. Ronald Weasley, you haven't heard a word I've said this whole time!"

Ron had the courtesy to look ashamed. "That's not true," he grumbled.

"That last sentence does not count." She stared him down.

The red-head broke into an easy grin. "Aww, c'mon 'Mione, you know I didn't mean it. It's just that lately…lately I've had trouble concentrating." The grin faltered for only a moment. Ron had been getting better about controlling his expressions. A by-product of his contact with the Boy-who-lived, undoubtedly.

Hermione nodded her understanding. "I know, it's been like that for all of us. Ever since—" She didn't finish. Ron understood. _Ever since Voldemort rose. Ever since Dumbledore died. Ever since the war started. Ever since Harry_…

Ron cut those thoughts off. No one ever spoke of the drastic changes that had overcome Harry. Since Harry Potter was the wizarding world's last hope, no one dared to comment on the boy's increasing tendencies towards darker magic. Ron believed it best if his thoughts didn't even touch the subject.

Hermione and Ron fell into a companionable silence for a while before Hermione remembered the reason for their meeting. "Oh, Ron, I almost forgot. Why did you call me out here? You said it was something important?"

Ron shifted nervously for a moment, unable to look Hermione in the eyes. "Er, I thought we could just talk a bit, really. About, you know, what's to happen after we graduate from Hogwarts." He dared to glance at Hermione, who was looking quite surprised.

"We're Order members, though, Ron. We're not supposed to really talk about things like that. We never know…how plans might change." It was an unwritten rule among the members of the Order of the Phoenix that no one really spoke of the future. It was considered bad luck, especially since their work was so dangerous. Lives were measured in weeks and days during these times, not years.

"Right, well, I know that. But before the order, back when we were kids, we had plans, 'Mione. Do you remember? We had such plans."

She gazed into his clear blue eyes, thinking of when she had first seen them in the pale face of a lanky boy all those years ago on the train. "When we were children," she murmured. So much had changed about him since then. He was now a healthy tan from lazing about in the sun by the lake and his lankiness had faded out in broad shoulders from Quidditch. But his eyes, his eyes were the same clear blue. Her brow furrowed. "When we were children didn't we all want to be Aurors?"

Ron nodded. "We all wanted to be Aurors, especially me and…and Harry. And you didn't know quite what you'd be when you grew up…"

"But I always said it would be something close to you and Harry so I could keep an eye on you two…and we'd always be together, the three of us."

Hermione's soft curls lifted for a moment in an invisible wind, making her seem to fade away like some forest spirit. Ron grabbed at her hand, fearful of her blowing away, but the gesture startled her. "Why, Ron!"

Ron blushed. "I was just thinking, 'Mione. Promise you'll never leave me. Promise me we'll have a future together."

She squeezed his hand back, reassuring herself as much as him. "Of course, Ron. I promise." They both knew here words were hollow and meaningless. That there was no way she could guarantee anything and neither could he. "Why would you ask something like that, though?"

"I passed the Aurors' test." There. He had said it. He hung his head as he said it, but after tense moments of silence in which she still had not replied, he lifted his head and looked to her.

"Ron, I—I don't know what to say. I'm very impressed, it's difficult to get in, and it means you'd have a secure job for after the war, but what about—"

"I know. What about the Order. But I've talked about it with Lupin already and he thinks that Scrimegour could use more of us in the Ministry—" he announced this part excitedly, since it had always been a dream of his to get into the Auror division.

"Ron," Hermione interrupted, but he continued on doggedly.

"—Which really just leaves my parents. And I know they don't care for the Ministry much, no one in the Order really does, but I think they'll like the idea of me finally doing something, they've not exactly been thrilled with me tramping all over Europe on this quest—"

"RON!"

He stopped and stared at her, rather surprised by her outburst.

"That's not what I was asking. I was asking 'what about Harry'."

Ron went as red as his hair and then very pale. "Yes," he seethed. "What about Harry? How could I have forgotten about Harry? Merlin knows his opinion matters more than the Order's."

"Ron, that's not what I meant and you know it. I was just wondering how Harry would take it. He's had a bit of trouble with Aurors for a while now. And besides, he needs us right now!" _Well,_ thought Hermione, _that's a gross understatement on my part. Harry loathes Aurors._

"Well, I'm going to have to tell him, in any case. He has serious trust issues and I don't think he'd take it well if I kept this a secret, even if he does dislike Aurors. As for needing us, how much have I really contributed to this? I mean, you know all sorts of history and you're smart at figuring out puzzles, but I…"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Wait. So you're willing to tell him about you becoming one of the Ministry's lackeys, but you won't tell him about us?" For various reasons, he and Hermione had opted to keep their relationship a secret.

Ron grinned. "Well, actually, no. I do plan on telling him about us. In fact, soon enough I plan on telling everyone about us." His grin widened into a maniacal smile.

Hermione paled. "Ron Weasely! Are you crazy? You know what bad luck that sort of thing is—"

"Correction. It's bad luck to have a relationship _at all_ during a war, regardless of whether or not it's a secret one. If one of us dies, the effects will be the same." His smile was gone and he looked at her seriously. Hermione was struck by how much he had grown up and how handsome he now looked. There was nothing innocent about him now. He seemed sharper, more dangerous—but at the same time, more dependable.

He scooted closer to her and took her into his arms so she could lean against his broad chest. She relaxed into him and he shifted for a moment as he retrieved something from his trouser pocket. It was a small satin box. He opened it and held it in front of Hermione.

Ron felt her sharp intake of breath and he leaned forward so his lips brushed by her ear. "Hermione Granger, will you marry me?" his voice rumbled. Neither one of them moved after that as Hermione continued to stare at the ruby-and-diamond engagement ring. Finally she slipped it on and twisted to face Ron, gripping his shoulders for balance. Only then did he realize she was crying.

"Yes," she choked out through her tears. "Yes, I'll marry you. Of course I'll marry you! I promised, didn't I? I promised." And then she began to kiss him over and over again.

Ron's mind was fogged with happiness and disbelief, so it took him a few seconds to realize what Hermione was talking about.

"I was just thinking, 'Mione. Promise you'll never leave me. Promise me we'll have a future together."

"Of course, Ron. I promise."

He closed his eyes as his own tears threatened to fall and concentrated solely on kissing Hermione back, as if through desperation he could make those words true.

A/N:

Review. It's for your own good, really, because with out reviews, I don't post.

Oh, c'mon. You all knew it was Hermione. Meet Harry in the next chapter and find out why everyone thinks he's so whacked out.

May I also suggest the works of Cassandra Claire? I hardly ever read het pairings, and never the pairings she writes, but she's so good at it I can't give it up! I strongly suggest her work, which can be found on 


	4. They thought we'd fall not at all

Perfect Memory

By The Fallen Caryatid

PG-13

Ron/Hermione and other relationships yet to be decided.

Chapter Four: "And they thought we'd fall; not at all"

They found him in the West tower, in a room that Dumbledore had unofficially given Harry as a private study. The Trio, last year, had often used the room to hatch plans and put together clues as they sorted information brought in by Order members about the Dark Lord's activities.

Many a long night they had spent buried in ancient tomes, casting and recasting spells, hunched over foul-smelling cauldrons. It was during these times that Ron had realized how much he loved Hermione. Not just as a friend, but as a partner—a lover. And Hermione herself had begun to realize that Ron was maturing, that his impulsive temper had cooled somewhat, replacing it with solid determination and steady passion for getting the job done.

But it had been Harry who had changed the most. While Ron and Hermione's changes could be attributed to them growing into adults, Harry had simply become jaded. His humor had become warped, his thoughts more twisted, his actions prone to violence. More than once the happy couple had rushed into Harry's safe room with the latest news about Tonks or Lupin only find the place drenched in the aura of sinister magic and Harry slumped in his favorite chair, exhausted from performing spells of dark protection and practicing curses that would be undoubtedly outlawed had the Ministry known they existed.

Today, when Ron pulled back the tapestry to reveal the passageway to the highest room of the West tower, it was not without the apprehension that they would find him in that condition.

As Ron whispered the countless passwords that had to be provided to enter the study, Hermione did her best to reassure herself that Harry would be fine, that she had only left him in the library a little while ago, that her time with Ron had only been…she pulled out a timepiece she kept in her pocket. _Three hours? I couldn't have been that long, could I of? Three hours. What sort of trouble could he have possibly caused? It's only three hours._

But she knew she was only lying to herself. Three hours was indeed a very long time, time enough for Harry to finish his research in the library and decide to try some practical application. Time enough for her entire future to have changed. _Please be safe, Harry. Please have waited. Please, Harry_…

It took a bit to finally get to the private study. The passage beyond the tapestry was only accessible to who Harry chose to let in. Anyone else would simply find a solid wall behind the wall hanging. The passage way then twisted upwards, stairs upon stairs, with passwords that had to be given every ten meters. When Ron had first learned to access the West Tower room, it took a memory charm for him to be able to keep track of all the spells required to unlock the passageway. Now the words fell from his lips without his even giving thought to them.

When they finally reached the top of the slow winding staircase, a solid wall blocked their passage. The two exchange looks, preparing themselves for the inevitable. They stepped straight through the wall, which felt like passing through old bread. Hermione resisted the urge to check her cloak for crumbs and instead checked around for Harry.

He was slumped in his favorite chair, looking quite dead. His skin was pale, the dark circles under his eyes more evident with his glasses missing. Hermione hurried to his side and checked his pulse. As soon as she touched him, though, Harry jerked awake and drew his wand, leveling it at her head. A curse was already half-formed on his lips when he realized where he was.

He lowered his wand. "Sorry," he muttered.

"What the hell, Harry?" asked Ron, but he fell silent under the Gryffindor heir's glare.

"I said I was sorry," he growled defensively, putting on his glasses. "But you know better than to surprise me." He stretched and began pacing about the room, reminding Hermione of a caged lion she had once seen at the London Zoo. She caught sight of the books they had removed from the library earlier that day and picked them up from his desk one by one; re-reading the titles and gauging the knowledge she stood to gain from reading them. Ron busied himself in alcove of the room making a strong tea for them all.

They were all falling into habit, with each member of the Trio doing as they were supposed to. Harry paced anxiously as he ran a hundred blood-drenched scenarios over and over in his head in preparation for his next mission; Hermione read spell-book after spell-book in hopes of saving Harry from his sanguine thoughts; and Ron, the only one of them who could make a decent cup of tea, brought calm and held the drowsiness that accompanies despair at bay.

Hermione paused from her book sorting and carefully lifted a slim black book from the pile. Its soft leather cover felt like silk under her fingertips; the edges of its pages were gilt with silver and smelt of vanilla and spice. She knew better than to open a magic book that she didn't recognize, so instead she held it aloft and called to Harry with a quizzical look.

"Harry, is this yours? I found it the pile. Did you pick it up by mistake?"

Harry stared at the book with wide eyes, recognition burning there, but no words came out of his mouth.

She stared back down at the book, stroking its cover once more. A tingle went down her spine and she could feel her curiosity get the best of her as she reached to turn to open the cover.

"NO!" cried Harry, flinging out his hand. The book instantly tugged free from Hermione's grasp and thudded neatly into Harry's palm. At his touch, silver script began to etch across the spine of the book, but before Hermione could read the inscription, Harry had hurried muttered an odd Latin phrase and they disappeared. The whole sequence of events happened amazingly fast; Ron and Hermione didn't even have the time to see Harry pull out his wand before it was hidden in his robes again.

Ron stood a few paces behind Harry, holding two teacups in hand and a surprised expression fitting ill on his normally serious face. His fiancé sighed and looked towards their best friend. "Harry, should I even ask you what that book was, or why it responds to your touch?"

Harry merely shook his head, a ghost of smile passing across his wane features. She remember how when she first came into the room, she had taken him for dead. "Harry, will you at least promise me that it won't hurt you? I can't stand to watch you wade through evil like you have—"

"If you can't stand to watch, then look away. But don't pretend I have a choice in the matter, not when you prepare the very rituals that Albus uses to steal my soul." Hermione ducked her head down, tears picking her eyes at his cold words. _When did he begin to call the headmaster by his first name?_

"As for the book, I can promise that it won't harm me, but I can't promise that it won't hurt me. All things come at a price these days, 'Mione."

She nodded and dumbly took the tea from Ron's hand. His arm was around her waist, supporting her. Harry looked from Ron's arm to Hermione's face and gave a cynical grin before returning to his pacing.

Ron hurriedly removed his arm and walked over to Harry, offering him a cup of tea, which Harry accepted before returning to his favorite chair. Ron fetched his own cup of tea and hurried back to stand by Hermione, who had stationed herself in front of Harry. They were going to have to tell him sooner or later, she reasoned, and the sooner the better.

Harry, for his part, looked from one to the other with an immensely amused expression on his face, as if the entire universe had played some cosmic joke on him. His expression never changed as his friends related the whole of their story to him, save maybe that the shadows in his eyes grew darker.

For all the trouble he received for dabbling in black magic, Harry was still human. If his behavior was erratic and his temper uncontrolled, it was only because everyday he felt the strain of his world's future laid upon his shoulders.

So to his credit, he was perfectly composed for roughly five seconds after listening to what they had to say. Then he burst into hysterical laughter.

That was not what his friends were expecting. Hermione clasped and unclasped her hands with a worried expression pinching her normally soft features. "Harry? Harry, are you all right? I know that this is a lot to take in—"

Harry slowly gained control of himself, but his smirk remained. "No, 'Mione, when Hagrid announced that I was part of a secret world of wizards, that was a lot to take in. When Albus told me that I was to save the wizarding world from the greatest dark lord ever, that was a lot to take in. When he explained what I what the cost of this war would be to me, that was a lot to take in." Ron was beginning to get a bad feeling about this, and he nervously glanced over to his girlfriend, who steadfastly gazed at Harry, who continued his diatribe. "Telling me that the two of you are dating—I'm afraid that is just not going to merit a big shock quotient in my life. I knew something was going on. I'm just surprised you bothered to talk to me about it."

Ron gave a small sigh of relief. "So you're okay with us getting married?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure, get married. I'm not going to stand in your way. It really doesn't seem appropriate for me to dictate who you can fall in love with, considering my own luck with relationships. But don't think this means—"

_Of course,_ moaned Ron in his mind, _of course there's always a catch._

"Don't think this means that I'm going to support you when The Order objects. And let me assure you, they will object." He plucked his wand from his sleeve and waved two plush chairs over. The couple sank into the chairs gratefully as the realization of their defiance of The Order could lead to.

Hermione pulled her thoughts together. "But they wouldn't try to keep us apart, would they? Mrs. Weasely mentioned just the other day that she would like to see some grandchildren…" she trailed off under Harry's smug look.

"I believe, Mione, that she was referring to the fact that she would like to _live_ to see her grandchildren. Look, this is how it is," he said, "Once the Order decides they need you, they aren't going to let you go. Ron, you have managed somehow to make yourself useful as a field agent. And Hermione, your mind is entirely too sharp for it's own good. Albus would never stand for you to be distracted by something as silly as a romantic fling."

"This isn't a fling, Harry, I've asked Hermione to marry me. As in 'til death do us part'."

Harry learned forward with a malicious grin. "That's exactly the problem, Ron. With Order business, parting often comes sooner than expected. And then what use will you be, if you're debilitated with grief?"

Ron had no answer to that, but slumped back into his chair, his hand reaching out blindly for Hermione's.

Gryffindor's golden boy continued, indifferent to the casual cruelty of his own words. "Of course, I have heard of the advantages of using a husband/wife team as field agents. Supposedly they're more in tune with each other than other partnerships, and so are more efficient." He shrugged. "All of the other husband/wife teams are getting on in years—a young couple might be just what Albus wants."

The couple shifted uncomfortably in their seats. _It's now or never. _Ron cleared his throat.

"Er, Harry, we—we won't be field agents after we graduate. Not like you."

"What?"

"I'm going to become an Auror, Harry. It pays well, and it's what I've always wanted to be. Hermione will work here at Hogwarts doing research to help pay for the wedding while I finish my Auror training. Moody said he'd be my sponsor. The Order could use people with Auror training, he said."

"So. You'll become one of the very bureaucrats who have always tried to manipulate me. Why am I not surprised?"

"Harry, it's not like that, and you know it."

"Traitor_,"_ He hissed, green eyes glittering.

"No," Ron maintained, "I am loyal to The Order to the very end. You know that, Harry. When the time comes for you to lead us into the final battle, I will be by your side. Hermione and I both will be there, no matter the cost."

Harry looked away, staring vacantly at some spot on the wall. "You don't know what you're saying. I will be alone the final battle. Those that do not forsake me will die; those that do not die, I will betray."

Hermione looked heart-broken. "Harry, how can you say that after everything we've been through together? After everything we've done?"

"It won't be your fault, 'Mione. That's just the way it has to be. Albus knows this."

 "Why do you keep calling the Headmaster by his first name? It's sort of disrespectful." Asked Ron.

Harry shrugged. "I guess I think I've earned it. You know, one of the benefits that comes with being the sacrificial offering."

"Sometimes I just don't understand a word you say. Dumbledore would never knowingly let you die, and neither would we. I don't know why you keep accusing us of all these awful things. We're you're friends, Harry!"

"You're going to become an Auror, Ron, and you say you're my friend? The Ministry has been trying to lock me up in Azkaban for years and now you're joining them!"

"The Order thinks it'd be a good idea to have one of us with them to keep an eye on what's going on in the Ministry. Dumbledore said—"

"TO HELL WITH THE ORDER AND DUMBLEDORE!!!" Harry roared, jumping up from his seat. His green eyes blazed and magic swirled around him so thickly that it could have almost been touched. Sparks of lightning danced across Harry's robes and through his hair. Only once before had Ron and Hermione seen Harry like this, with his amazing power radiating off of him like the wizards of legend.

Harry and Malfoy had been arguing and it had escalated from a fistfight into a duel. The two boys that started the fight had managed to escape it un-cursed with only minor cuts and bruises, a little worse for the wear. The Slytherins and Gryffindors that had joined the fray to fight alongside their idols had not been so lucky though, and the hospital wing had been full for the next week.

Ron eyed Harry carefully, having also stood up. Ever so slightly he shifted in front of Hermione and slowly reached for his wand. Hermione herself stood up and peeked around Ron's protective stance. "Harry, we don't understand. Aren't you in The Order of the Phoenix with us? Didn't you create 'Dumbledore's Army'? So why then do you hate it all so much?"

"If you need to ask, then you are too blind to ever see," he sneered coldly. _Where did he learn to sneer like that? It's an exact copy of the way Malfoy used to look at us. It's almost as if Harry hates us as much as he did,_ worried Ron. His wand was in his hand now, but if Harry went berserk, nothing would be able to stop him. _He's just too damn powerful. _

But the soft words of Hermione's questions calmed the Gryffindor heir and the magic that had clung to Harry a few moments before dissipated just as if Harry had tossed it aside like a cloak. He picked up his tea and resumed his pacing of the room. His two friends stared after him, not daring to move lest they accidentally trigger another of his mood swings. Harry had been on edge, constantly loosing control for at least a month. The only thing Ron was grateful for was that it seemed to keep that pure-blood prat and his goons at bay. Harry hadn't had a single altercation with them since the duel.

Harry spoke softly as he paced, but his words were clear. "My friends, my friends," he said, bitter sarcasm and deep affection in the words. "If only you knew what this war is going to cost."

"Damn it, Harry, maybe we would know if you would tell us! But you don't say anything of importance to us; you just keep muttering omens of a future we can't make sense out of! If you know something, just tell us!"

Harry hung his head, looking sulky. "If I could, don't you think I would?"

"I don't know," gritted out Ron, who was beginning to loose patience with his addled friend. "These days I just can't figure out whose side you're on anymore. Merlin, Harry, half the time you walk around school drenched in black magic! What am I supposed to think?"

"Maybe you could just trust me, considering how much I've sacrificed and how many times I've put my life on the line for this stupid war to save your stupid world. Maybe, just _maybe_, you might realize that I'm practicing forbidden rituals because it's _the only fucking way to save your ass."_ He shrugged and resumed pacing. "Of course, hey, whatever, I'm sure I just keep showing up at Voldemort's place because I like the kick I get off of Crutius, not because I'm destined to murder him."

"That's not what I meant and you know it; you keep twisting my words. I appreciate what you've done—"

"Sometimes I wonder. Look, the point of you coming up here was to tell me that you're going to become an Auror and marry Hermione, right? Well, I really don't bloody care. As I said before, I'm really too busy to worry about who's fucking who and quite frankly, I thought you both had enough on your plates to have the time to juggle a romance as well. All in all, I don't care. Go, get married, become the Minister of Magic if you want. You have my blessing and undoubtedly The Order's curse. I've just got too much on my mind for this crap."

"Well, then, we'll just get out of your way." Ron's voice was flat with pent-up anger. He stood up and pulled Hermione up with him. Harry said nothing in reply. Hermione walked to the desk and picked up several of the ancient books. "Harry, I'm going to take these with me to Snape's office. You'll remember to go down there tonight, won't you?"

Harry just nodded, still silent.

"Okay then, we'll just go then." The couple walked out the door, shoulders tense, as if they expected Harry to throw a curse at their backs. But they left without trouble, hurrying down the passageway and pushing aside the tapestry to escape into the vacant hallway.

Harry set down his tea once more and collapsed again into his favorite chair. He ran his hand through his limp hair, mussing it up even more. "It's safe to come out now," he muttered.

A boy materialized from the corner of the room, an invisibility cloak sliding in silver folds from his shoulders. His school robes were elegant and custom-tailored; his movements were controlled. Mercury eyes darted around the room before finally falling on the sprawled figure of the Gryffindor seeker. He tossed his colorless hair and crossed his arms, every inch of him looking like the aristocratic pure-blood prince that he was. "They think you're crazy, Potter."

Harry laughed weakly. "It doesn't matter. Despite what they say, they think I'm loyal to Dumbledore."

"Optimistic Gryffindors." He staid it like an elegant curse, and then froze for a moment in the fading afternoon sun, his pale countenance painted amber. After a lengthy silence, he finally turned back toward Harry. "My Lord grows impatient, Potter."

"Yes, I know. I can feel it. And at night," His viridian eyes closed and his calloused fingers ghosted over his scar. "At night I can see it. What does he want to know?"

The Slytherin rolled his eyes. "Everything. Really, sometimes you're an idiot, Potter."

Harry smiled. No one else these days spoke to him that way. It was refreshing. "Okay, let me try a different question. What is the minimum I can give him?"

"Nothing. You're still being an idiot, Potter."

"Damn it, Draco, you know what I mean! What's the minimum I can give him without him killing you for being useless an informant?"

"Oh, that's different. He would need the name of a spy."

Harry frowned. "No, I can't do that."

Draco Malfoy shrugged and walked to the windowsill, summoning his broom from the ground. "It's been lovely doing business with you, then. But as you know, I'm late for my own execution."

"Austria," Harry mumbled, staring at his cold tea that sat un-tasted on the side table.

"What?"

"Austria. In two months, one of our members will be infiltrating Voldemort's base in Austria. It's supposed to be a crippling blow against your side. I'll give you the details as I soon as I know them, so you can intercept our agent." He sighed heavily. "Is that enough? Can you go to him with that?"

Draco nodded.

"Good. What have you to give me in exchange?"

The Slytherin prince picked up the book that Harry had been so protective of. "Turn to page 73. The password is _raptus regaliter._ You'll find what you need there."

Gryffindor's golden boy raised his eyebrows at the incantation. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

Draco raised one eyebrow in response. "I'm rather surprised that you even know what those words mean, considering your marks in school. But no, it's not supposed to be funny. It's supposed to be a promise." He climbed onto his broom and flew away then, intent on heading into the Forbidden Forest and apparating to the Death Eater meeting from there.

Harry sipped his tea, thinking over the day's events. Hermione and him researching an ancient ritualistic spell, his discovery of what it would do to him if he used it, the realization that he would use it anyway, the news of his two best friends' engagement to each other and Ron's decision to become an Auror, and now—and now he betrayed the Order yet again, in order to save his childhood rival. By the same measure, his beloved enemy risked everything to give him the final key to the puzzle to destroy himself. Raptus regaliter. Royally screwed.

A/N:

This story is PG-13 now, but I'm thinking of changing it to R, you know, for the hell of it. How freaked out would you guys be if I included a slash couple? Of course, I'd keep Ron/Hermione the main focus of the story. The more reviews I get, the faster I post.


	5. So look back on those treasured days

Perfect Memory

By The Fallen Caryatid

PG-13

Ron/Hermione and other relationships yet to be decided.

Chapter Five: "So look back on your treasured days"

_Present Time_

When Ron woke up again, he was in the Gryffindor boy's dorm. It gave him a bit of vertigo for a moment to be back there, confusing the years for him.

Everything was in its normal place, adding to the abnormality of it; a worn Chudley Canons poster rustled in the breeze of an open tower window. Harry slept peacefully in the bed next over, his glasses on the bed stand, looking exactly the same there as he always did when they were in school.

But they weren't in school anymore, Ron knew. The wretched soreness that pulled at all his muscles was evidence enough for him to know that he had been to hell and back; the fact that all the other boy's beds were long empty and collecting dust added to his sureness that he was in some horrid twilight zone.

His thoughts were confirmed when Draco Malfoy came waltzing through the door.

"Hello, Weasel. Rest well?"

Ron glanced towards Harry, but his roommate didn't so much as flutter his eyelids. Malfoy gave a quick, pained glance in Harry's direction before turning to address Ron again. "We gave him an extremely potent sleeping potion. He shouldn't wake up for another day or two."

Ron started to speak, but only coughed. His throat was incredibly dry. Malfoy noticed and with a flick of his wand, produced a glass of water which he handed to Ron. Ron eyed it warily, causing Malfoy to roll his eyes exasperatedly.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, it's not as though I've poisoned it. How many ways do I have to convince you that I'm on your side?"

Ron went ahead and gulped down the water, figuring he couldn't possibly hurt anymore. Once his throat was soothed, he addressed the Slytherin. "I thought you were dead. I could have sworn I watched Malfoy— that is, er, I mean, Lucius— kill you. I was pretty sure of it. I watched it, you know…"

Malfoy frowned, ruining an otherwise porcelain-perfect face. "Yes, I know. I was dying, Weasel, not delusional. And the fact of the matter is that I was mostly dead, not all dead." He gave a sort of half-smile towards Harry. "I have often said there is a great deal of difference between the two, at least in the wizarding world. Of course, with you, it might not matter so much. Weaselys are practically muggles as it is."

Ron shrugged off the insult easily. In his school days, he would have at the very least leapt up and tried to strangle the peroxide-OD'ed git. But times change and it took a great deal more to piss him off these days. The only person that could really get under his skin anymore was Harry. As far as Ron was concerned, he and Malfoy had buried the hatchet long ago.

"Better to be a muggle than a murdering Malfoy," he sneered in return. Just because the hatchet was buried didn't mean twisting the knife wasn't an option.

Malfoy smirked. He knew Ron wasn't interested in actually hurting him; he just wanted the familiarity of routine. "Good thing that I'm only one of those things, poor-blood."

"That's right! Your father disinherited you before killing you! You don't even have a name to fall back on."

"That's right."

Ron blanched. That was not the response he was expecting. "You're not a Malfoy anymore? But you said only one of those things. So you agree that you're murderer, then?"

"Your level of comprehension astounds me. And you say that like it's an unusual thing these days; there's a fine line between being a soldier and a murderer. A soldier kills because it's his duty. A murderer kills because he likes it. Don't act as if every life you've taken has been absolutely necessary. Don't pretend that you haven't enjoyed some of the killing!" Draco ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up and still managing to look like a disaffected prince.

"Prat," grumped Ron.

"Prat? I give a vicious speech like that and all you can muster up to call me is _prat_?"

"Look—the point is that we're both murderers, then. And what the hell am I supposed to call you now? Not 'Malfoy,' I'm guessing, with being disinherited and all."

"You could call me 'Slytherin Sex-god'."

"We've been out of Hogwarts for almost a year now; let go of the house, already. How about 'pompous arse'?"

Draco smiled; a real smile, not one of the smirks that he commonly wore. "I'm not sure I care much for that. How about you just keep calling me Malfoy?"

There was sincerity in his voice; something Ron had never heard from the pale Slytherin. Ron relaxed into his pillows, enjoying the easy flow of the banter.

"Is keeping your name like that allowed?"

Draco shrugged. "Like I give a damn about what my father wanted. I have Malfoy blood in my veins, haven't I? Nothing can take that away, not even my father."

The conversation paused as Harry rolled over in his sleep, his features relaxed. He looked very much like the little boy that Ron had met at the train station all those years ago. Draco started to take a step towards the sleeping hero, but seemed to change his mind and stayed posed there, indecisive.

Ron snorted. Malfoy looked ridiculous.

Draco glared at the redhead and marched over to Harry's bed, as if just to prove that he could, but when he got there he seemed at a loss for what to do. Eventually he muttered a spell that produced a quick scan of his vitals. Noting Harry's temperature, he reached out and tugged the blankets over the hero's shoulders.

"He looks thin," commented Ron.

"When hasn't he?"

Ron actually gave the question some thought. "Sixth year, I think. He got that growth spurt and was finally filling out his frame. About half of seventh year, too. But then, between the rituals and missions, well, you know."

"The rituals," Draco paused, unsure of what to say. "The rituals—you and Granger—bloody hell, I should have been there, I should have known, or had a plan ready, or something! I'm sorry for not standing up to Albus, he was wrong—"

"No!" interrupted Ron. "No, don't say that. Don't tell me that he was wrong or that there was some other way, because I don't think I could stand to hear that. The only way that I can cope is to believe that it wasn't in vain, that it was the only way. I can't bear to believe that her soul was wasted on anything less than our last hope."

The blond looked distinctly uncomfortable. "It wasn't in vain, Weasely. It had to be done. But she should have had a choice." He looked over at Harry. "They both should have."

Ron shrugged. "We all should have been able to choose. But it was war, and I'm told these things happen in war." His last sentence brought to mind the blood-hazed memories of his escape and Lupin's frantic explanations of the final battle.

"Malfoy, what's wrong with Harry? What happened at the final battle?"

"Great use of subtlety, asking that question. About as subtle as an on-coming train." He took a deep breath and let it whoosh out slowly. "He can do wandless magic."

Ron's mouth gaped open for a moment before he brought himself back under control. "You're _joking._"

"I wish. But it certainly accounts for all of his lucky escapes, doesn't it? Well, he fought the final battle using only wandless magic. Which is a tough thing to do against any educated wizard, but against the scourge of the wizarding world, well…"

"How did he survive?"

"It turns out that he," he gestured towards Harry, and Ron realized that Malfoy had never actually used Harry's name during the conversation, "has only a half-decent grasp of his powers. He's fantastic at manipulating magic. But he never was very good at regulating it." Draco paused and sat down on the edge of Harry bed, debating whether or not to continue.

"Just tell me, Malfoy. What could be lost by telling me?"

"His trust, for one," but he continued anyway. "He realized that he wasn't going to kill the Dark Lord with conventional magic as he'd taken on too much immunity. So he strangled him."

Ron struggled to process all of this information. He had never guessed about Harry's abilities, or what he would be driven to do in order to end the war. _I wonder if 'Mione knew._

"But there was a backlash of magic when Lord Voldemort died. It hit him," again he gestured towards Harry, "really hard. It was like being struck by a hurricane. It ripped off all that excess magic he had been gathering around him. From what I hear, it was rather painful."

Ron blinked. He was suddenly feeling very tired. His voice sounded odd in his ears. "Is that why he's unconscious now? I don't think I understand what you're saying."

Draco seemed to be struggling to tell the information, but couldn't quite force the words from his throat. "Voldemort's magic…the magic, it…ripped right through him…it didn't just take the excess magic…"

Ron discovered he just couldn't keep his eyes open, and something in Draco's voice reminded him that—"Malfoy, why don't you use Harry's name? You haven't called him 'Potter' once in the entire time we've been talking."

Draco seemed surprised by the question. "I hadn't noticed."

Ron nodded sleepily and yawned. "Bloody hell, I can't seem to stay awake."

Draco nodded. "Then go back to sleep," he said simply.

"Shit, what'd you give me in that water?" Sighed Ron as he slipped down against the pillows. There was a pain deep in his stomach, like something gnawing…

Draco smiled again, but this time it seemed so much sadder. "You should never take a drink from a Slytherin, Weasely. We lie—and we're quite exceptional at potions."

"Bloody…hell," murmured Ron as he slipped off into sleep. The world blurred before his eyes. He could have sworn he saw Malfoy gently reach out and brush the hair away from Harry's face. But then darkness enveloped him, and he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

A/N:

And at this point, everyone is wondering whose side Draco and Harry are really on. If I get reviews, I'll write the next chapter.

This story is PG-13 now, but I'm thinking of changing it to R, you know, for the hell of it. How freaked out would you guys be if I included a slash couple? Of course, I'd keep Ron/Hermione the main focus of the story.


	6. We were young in a world that was so tir...

Perfect Memory

PG-13

Ron/Hermione and other relationships yet to be decided.

Chapter Five: "We were young in a world that was so tired"

_The past, one month before graduation_

Harry clenched his fists tightly and studied the floor of the room, pretending to find it the most fascinating thing in the world. He was on his knees, his messy hair falling forward to obscure Hermione's view of his green eyes, which were wide with pain.

His chest felt like it was clamped in a vise as he struggled to control his breathing and keep it from escaping in ragged gasps. Slowly he drew in a breath, his lungs screaming for more, more—and slowly he exhaled, even though he wanted gasp and suck up all the oxygen in the room.

"Harry, are you alright?" called Hermione's concerned voice from across the room. She took a step towards him, thought the better of it, and stepped back again to wait for him.

Harry now had control of his breathing and studied the cracks and broken stones that had pushed up from the floor. They radiated out from around him, as though he had struck the floor with great force. He knew that tomorrow, when he came back here, the floor would be as smooth as ever, the damage undone. No evidence would be left that he was losing his mind. He wondered if the lack of evidence made it any less real.

"Harry?" Hermione called out again, and Harry growled in response.

"Hermione, I'm fine. Just give me a moment."

"Okay," she replied, but her voice was unsure. Behind her, the only door into room swung open suddenly, causing her jump and the liquid in the vial she was holding splash perilously close the edge. She hurriedly checked that she hadn't spilled a drop (she hadn't) before turning towards the intruder. "Oh!" she exclaimed, seeing who it was.

"Professor Snape," muttered Harry from across the room. He hadn't so much as flinched when Snape had barged in, and even now, he didn't bother to look up.

"Potter," the spy smoothly acknowledged. He turned to Hermione. "You have the vial, Ms. Granger?"

"Yes, Professor," she said, her tone clipped and professional. She had long conquered any animosity and fear that she felt towards the Potions Master, since they had to work with each other for the Order on a regular basis. She passed the vial full of deep burgundy liquid to Snape. "There's the blood as you requested, collected from Harry before the spell. Snape examined it for a moment and placed a stopper in it before passing it back. Striding towards Harry, he knelt down next to the Gryffindor and pulled out several tools from a black potions satchel that he carried with him.

Finally he pulled out a long, thick needle. Without pausing, he jabbed straight into Harry's arm. Harry tensed, but did not move away. Snape shoved the needle a bit farther into his arm, provoking a whimper. The professor grinned maliciously. Oh yes, he was enjoying every moment of this. It wasn't every day that he got to stab Potter with sharp pointed objects.

As he drew the needle out, a stream of blood followed it, floating in the air. A minute more and Snape had succeeded in placing the blood in another vial, disposing of the needle, and slapping a bandage on the hero's arm. "I'm done," he said, and gestured for Hermione. "I'm going to take this back my laboratory and analyze it. But, I suspect it's as we feared." He took the vial of blood that Hermione had and held it up next to the one that he had just collected. The first vial looked like normal blood, swirling thickly around in the glass container.

The second was identical, except that it obviously glowed with a silver tinge. "Spell poisoned," muttered Hermione. "This was always a possibility. We'll have to discontinue the casting until we find the antidote."

Professor Snape gave his most cynical smirk. "For all your flaunted and vaunted intelligence, Ms. Granger, sometimes you are exceptionally naïve. Discontinue the casting, indeed. No, at the Headmaster's orders, Harry will continue his work."

Hermione looked distraught. "But we can't continue these spells! They're destroying Harry!"

"And saving the wizarding world." He glanced over to Harry, who was now lying on his back amid the rubble of the floor. Addressing Hermione, he said, "Have him rest for now, but no longer than a half-hour. We don't want to risk the spell deteriorating. After he rests he must complete the ward, and cement it to this object." The professor pulled out a solid glass globe the size of his fist from his satchel and handed it to Hermione. "Notify the headmaster as soon as the ward is completed. Then you may return to your rooms if you wish."

Snape left then, his dark robes swirling about him as he walked out the door. Hermione winced as it slammed behind him. Then she turned to Harry, dreading what she had to tell him, knowing that he had heard every word.

"Hermione," he called. His voice was low but unshaken. Of course Harry would be strong even in the face of death. He always had been…

"Hermione," he called again.

"Yes, Harry?" She replied, her soft brown eyes meeting his tired green.

"I'm fine. Really." But it was evident that he didn't mean a word of it.

"Oh, Harry!" Her voice hitched and she could feel tears stinging her eyes.

"I'm rested now, 'Mione. You best step outside. I'll call you once the spell is finished."

"Oh, are you sure? Snape said you could have a whole half hour to rest."

He sat up, shadows playing across face from some indefinable light source. "I don't need to rest. And the spell must be set, or its potency will weaken. At least that's Snape said, right? So let's finish this so I can get out of this damn room."

She nodded mutely, but he didn't see since his eyes had slid shut. He could hear her footsteps clicking across the floor, the door creak as it swung open and then click quietly shut. He opened his eyes and glanced around to make sure that he was truly alone.

Then he laid back down, staring up and the vaulted ceiling so high that it was lost in darkness…or maybe that was just another illusion. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. Everything was less real in this room. It was a round, with a curve to the sides that suggested there might be a dome at the top. No windows, only one door. The walls were cold and damp…Harry thought that maybe this meant the room was underground. He wasn't sure, really. All he knew was that this place is at the heart of Hogwarts, and was wreathed in stone and magical barriers to keep the slightest hint of a stray spell from escaping.

Nothing had felt so much like a prison before. And he was a prisoner here, at least until finished Dumbledore's bidding.

_"They think you're crazy, Potter."_

_"It doesn't matter. Despite what they say, they think I'm loyal…"_

He sighed. Not for the first time he wondered what tricks his mind was playing on him. Memories felt as if they were becoming real.

Harry reached out with out looking, his hand intuitively finding the crystal globe that had been placed next to him. Picking it up, he placed it over his heart. It rested there heavily, pressing against his rib cage. He took a deep breath and began to mutter. Latin spilled off his tongue as if it was his native language.

He didn't bother standing up. There was no point to it, really, since no one was here to observe him. When others monitored his spells, he tended to make sweeping, dramatic motions as he wrote out the sigils for the wards.

But no one was here now, so he could let his weaknesses show. He didn't have to stand up and look strong for them. He didn't have to pretend he was powerful just so they could feel confident that they had made the right choice. He didn't have to pretend that yes, he was the Savior of the World and he knew exactly what he was doing. Here he could be exactly what he was: the Headmaster's puppet.

As his words flowed, magic stirred. He was grateful that the hard part—the painful part—was over. From here it was all finishing touches. Glowing grids crisscrossed the room, symbols swirled across the floor. It would have looked chaotic to anyone else; only he could see the wondrous pattern he was creating. Cupping the globe in his hands, he centered his power there. The magic made visible spun about him, focused on him. He needed no wand for this—he did not control magic, he _was_ magic. There was no need for an instrument to focus his magic, he _was_ the focus.

He smiled as his spell reached it apex, tears running down his cheeks. He could see it all—he knew it all—and it was bitterly beautiful.

--

"I'm finished."

Hermione started at Harry's rough voice—it sounded like he had been gargling gravel. She pulled away from the cool stone wall she had been leaning against and carefully looked him over. His pupils were pinpoints despite the shadows of the corridors, and his lips were chapped and bleeding. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, his eyes focused on something in the distance. Hermione had a sinking feeling that if she turned around she would find the corridor empty. These days Harry's gaze was constantly locked on something she could never see. It was almost as if he was gazing right beyond this time and straight into the future.

For lack of anything else to say, she commented, "That took you rather long. Was there trouble?"

He didn't answer her question, and instead stumbled forward, right on to Hermione, his taller frame pressed against hers. She blushed heatedly, even though she knew Harry didn't mean anything by it.

"Hermione," he mumbled against her ear, "I'm finished. The anchor—take it, I'm about to drop it." She gently pushed Harry off and took the globe. And soon as she had touched the glass orb she gave an involuntary yelp and almost dropped it.

"Oh, careful, I think it's cold," mumbled Harry, not seeming to care that his warning was late.

Hermione just nodded and whipped her wand out to levitate it and once it was out of the way, she turned back to Harry. "Here's your wand back. Hmm. There's no way you can be seen staggering through the castle like a drunk. Hold still, for goodness sake! How else am I supposed to cast a strengthening charm on you?"

The charm was exactly what Harry needed. He stood a bit straighter and blinked. Hermione was a bit disappointed to see that his pupils were still constricted, but they would go back to normal after some sleep, she supposed.

They hurried down the corridor. The winding passage took several sharp turns and had no stairs to climb or doors to pass through, yet no one ever came down this way. At the end of their journey, it finally opened into one of the main hallways. Some students hurried past, heading their dorms. Checking her pocket watch, she frowned. It was almost curfew.

Lavender passed by chatting with a tall, blonde Ravenclaw and shot Hermione a surprised look as she passed two-thirds of the Golden Trio by. For only a moment Hermione was confused, but then she realized what she and Harry must look like, standing there next to each other, which Harry's arm still draped over her shoulders, his robes looking disheveled and his hair more tousled than usual. Hermione's own cheeks were flushed red with the exertion from the long trip up from the containment room. She blushed all the harder knowing what Lavender thought the two of them had been up to.  She sighed again. Ron would not appreciate these rumors.

"I'll report to Albus."

Hermione glanced over to Harry. He had removed his arm from around her shoulders was definitely more stable on his feet, but she worried that being interrogated by the Headmaster might prove too much for him.

Harry guessed what she was thinking and rolled his eyes. "I'm _fine_, already, 'Mione. Stop worrying. It's not like I'm some delicate flower—I've been through a lot worse then just cobbling together some wards, right?"

"Yes," sighed Hermione. She tugged at one of her wild curls. This was the third time in two hours that he had insisted that he was okay. "What about curfew?"

"You don't really think Albus is going to let the Savior of the Wizarding World get in trouble because he's a bit late for bed?" His smile was lightly mocking, as if he was a parent reassuring a child that there were no monsters hiding in closets.

Hermione frowned. But this was the world of magic, and there _were_ monsters hiding in closets, especially in these days since the war had starts. There were nightmares hiding everywhere. But she only said, "Alright, Harry. Just be careful and stay out of trouble." She gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek before turning to hurrying back towards the Gryffindor rooms.

Harry looked down the corridor in the direction of Dumbledore's office. The end of the hall was lost in darkness, the torches having been doused for the night. He smiled. Darkness was never something he'd feared. Reaching blindly behind himself he grasped the spell globe and ended the levitation spell. He didn't wince as the icy-cold orb touched his skin, but instead strode confidently forward, until he too had been lost in the darkness.

--

Hermione smiled as she entered the common room. Ron had tried to wait up for her, but had ended up falling asleep all the same. He was sprawled over the couch, his head tilted back and his mouth hanging slightly open. She thought he looked adorable.

As she brushed his unruly red hair away from his face, his eyes fluttered open.

"H'lo, 'Mione," he muttered sleepily. He stretched and rubbed his eyes, looking around the common room. "Where's Harry?"

"Reporting to Dumbledore about the ward. Come on, let's go to bed. I'll tell you all about it in the morning."

Ron looked at her seriously. "He didn't mention anything about me, did he? Anything about me angry at me?"

"No. You two didn't have _another_ fight, did you? This is getting silly, Ron," she said in an exasperated tone. "Besides, if he hated you that much, he couldn't very well have made the ward tonight, could he have?"

Ron frowned and he turned around, one foot resting on the steps towards his dorm. "Why do you say that?"

Hermione smiled and walked up to him, placing her hand on his shoulders. "Because the ward was made for you. The Burrow has a dozen ancient spells on it, but Dumbledore knows you'll probably want to move out after graduation and get your own place. So he asked Harry to made a ward stone to install wherever you decide to settle down. It's portable, too, so if you move you can take it with you. Harry's going to make me one as well—just think, our home will have twice the protection."

"Our home," Ron repeated wonderingly. "Isn't that amazing, 'Mione? We're going to finally have a place together. And someday, maybe, a place for a family?"

She tiptoed up and gave him a gentle kiss, her lips barely brushing across his. "Absolutely. I want nothing more than to have a family with you.  I love you, Ron. But not until after the war, okay, love?"

Ron just grinned and pulled her closer, kissing her soundly.

--

"Harry! Wait up, mate!" Ron ran through the sunlit hallway, his robes open and flapping wildly behind him.

"I was just on my way to Hogsmeade to pick up some potions ingredients. I really can't stop to chat—"

Ron noted that Harry had the remarkable ability to make even sunlight look depressing. The sunbeams that filtered through the wide glass windows cast harsh shadows across Harry's face and made his green eyes glow unnaturally brilliant.

"Eh, Harry, since when do you pick up potions ingredients? You haven't taken a Potions class since fifth year."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Since I became Snape's bitch, that's since when." Harry walked over towards Ron and lowered his voice, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Ever since I've been chosen to become the Order's main defense against the dark arts, I've needed all sorts of draughts and specially-made potions that can't be bought. They're too much for Hermione to handle, and since Snape is a Potions Master, he's been brewing them. The downside is, I've become his errand boy. Sadistic bastard always waits until weekends to suck up my time." He frowned. "Bastard," he said again for emphasis.

Ron, meanwhile was reeling from the information overload. Normally he had to drag information out of Harry, but here Harry was complaining to him like they were old friends. Which, he supposed, they were, but lately they hadn't been close.

Harry leveled his gaze at the taller Keeper. "Come on, I suppose you could talk to me as we walk." Without further comment he turned around and started to walk toward the main entrance.

Ron fell into step beside him, grinning that once again they were walking to Hogsmeade together, just like they used to.

"So what was it that you wanted to tell me?" asked Harry, not bothering to look at Ron as he spoke.

The youngest Weasely boy glanced nervously towards the only Potter child. "Er, that is, I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"The ward. 'Mione told me you made it for me and that you're making one for her too. Thanks for that, anyway. It'll be a big help when we get our own place."

Harry stopped walking and turned towards Ron. Lifting one eyebrow, he asked, "So you and Hermione still plan on going through with this marriage thing? Despite the Order?"

"Yes," Ron glared back defiantly. "I love her."

Harry shrugged and continued to walk. "Like I said, I'm in no position to give advice about love. Do as you please."

Ron fell behind, watching as his friend continued and disappeared beyond the main courtyard.

Ron had just stepped off the staircase that led to the Gryffindor dorms when the Fat Lady's portrait suddenly swung open. Hermione stood there for a moment, her curls tumbling over her shoulders and her cheeks rosy, looking almost too perfect for Ron to stand. She caught sight of him then, and a wide smile crossed her face. The red head was struck with the realization that no matter what this war came to, this image of Hermione—the young girl who loved him—would live in his memory forever. When he finally closed his eyes to die, this moment was what he would hold in his mind.

"Ron!" Hermione's light voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Oh, hey 'Mione!" he said, smiling as he caught her in his arms and leaned in for a kiss.

"Ron, not here!" she hissed, pulling away. "People will see!"

Slightly put off, he let her go. "Where you off to?"

"Hogsmeade. I have to buy some Potions ingredients. Would you like to come too?"

"Of course. So why do you need to pick up potions stuff?" He casually draped one arm across her shoulders, and to his relief, she didn't shrug it off.

"What do you mean? You know I'm working with Professor Snape on some antidote research. He's asked me to pick up supplies. Although why he always waits until my free days to take my time, I'll never know."

Ron's brow furrowed. "So then why did he send Harry, if he was going to send you too?"

"Send Harry? Ron, what are you talking about? Harry hasn't been by the laboratory all day. Besides, the Professor doesn't trust him with buying potions stores. He says Harry doesn't have enough sense to tell unicorn hair from dung beetle wings."

"But Harry told me he was buying potions for Snape," Ron said with a sinking feeling in his gut. "This isn't good, is it?"

Hermione stared wide-eyed at her lover as her clever brain pieced together every detail she had ever learned to create a whole picture. "Oh no," she murmured as she began to discern a pattern. "Oh no, he wouldn't—he wouldn't dare—" suddenly she spun around and sprinted for the exit. "Come _on,_ Ron! We might be able to catch him in time!"

Ron took after her, swearing furiously under his breath. "Damn it, I hate it when she does this! Just once, couldn't she tell me what the bloody hell is going on before she takes off running?" But really, he didn't mind. It was like old times, running to discover the answer to their last riddle. Only this time, Harry wasn't by his side, laughing in the face of danger. No, this time he had the sinking feeling Harry _was_ the danger.

--

Hogsmeade was bustling with end-of-year crowds. Graduation was approaching fast and many students were making purchases for the various parties that were being held.

Besides, the last few weekends had been cancelled due to reports of increased Death Eater activities. This weekend Dumbledore has announced that the threat had somewhat diminished and allowed students to travel as they pleased.

And while exams were on many of the older students' minds, the bright summer day and cool breeze had blown away any worries they might have. For now, everyone was content to just have a day of relaxation.

As Hermione pushed her way through the giggling crowds of carefree students, her heart gave a sharp twist. She should be at Honeyduke's, listening to Harry and Ron daring each other to try a cockroach cluster, not under fear that her best friend was about to get himself arrested.

She was reaching the end of Hogsmeade's main road when she realized the crowd she was passing through had taken a decidedly different attitude. Instead of laughing and chatting happily, they were standing still, pushing to get a better view of whatever was in the middle of the crowd of spectators. There was muttering and shocking whispers, some of which Hermione overheard.

"Shameful, a curse like that used—"

"Right in broad daylight!"

"He had it coming, I suppose—"

"What can you expect, from a _Slytherin__?_"

"It's a good thing it's Harry Potter, not some poor child!"

"At least he can protect himself!"

Unable to stand it any longer, she shoved the spectators out of her way, not caring about the indignant cries that followed in her wake. All that mattered was Harry. She knew he was in the center of this mess, and probably at fault for it, knowing Harry.

Finally she came to the break in the crowd. There were several Aurors, most holding the crowd at bay. Two were at the center, questioning Harry—whose face was dark with rage—and none other than Draco Malfoy, who looked as bored and haughty as he always did, despite the crowd's obvious hostility towards him.

Harry suddenly looked up as if something had startled him. Carefully he began to scan the crowd, his eyes finally coming to rest on Hermione. A wicked smile appeared on his lips, and without even pausing to give explanation to the Auror who was talking with him, he strode over to Hermione.

"Harry?" She squeaked nervously. Harry was really much closer to her than he needed to be. She could feel his warm breath across her cheek as he whispered in her ear.

"Hermione, I need you to do me another favor. Take this," he said, dropping a velvet bag into her hands, "and leave immediately. Grab Ron—I presume he followed you here—and get back to Hogwarts as fast as you can. Whatever you do, don't open the bag. As soon as you get the chance, leave it in the West Tower, on the desk."

"Harry, what's going on?" she hissed frantically, seeing the Auror approach.

"I can't tell you now. I'm fine, Hermione. It'll all be okay. Just don't open the bag. Do you understand? _Don't open the bag._"

He was pulled away then by the Auror, who was apparently upset that Harry had ditched their little 'chat'.  Hermione stuffed the velvet bag in her robes and pushed her way back through the crowd. It was easier getting out. Harry had been right; Ron was waiting for her on the fringes of the group.

"Hermione, what's going on?" He asked, his voice an echo of her own questions.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Harry said he'd explain when he got back. But for now, Ron, we have to get back to the West Tower. Right now."

She hurried away, Ron dogging her footsteps. " 'Mione, what about Snape's potions?"

Hermione cursed then, surprising her boyfriend, and then sighed. "I suppose I'll get them tomorrow. He'll not be happy, but it can't be helped. For now, we have to get to the West Tower."

So they hurried on, Hermione's stomach clenching with dread. When Harry had dropped the bag into Hermione's hand, she had felt something within. It felt an awful like it was a bag full of glass marbles. But Harry wouldn't need to hide that from the Aurors, so it had to be something more.

_But Harry wouldn't sell us out, would he? He's loyal to the Order, not matter how he acts. He'd never betray us, would he?_ But try as she might to shake off these treacherous thoughts, she couldn't help but feel that everything she had believed in was starting to come crashing down…

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	7. Though it's not what we wanted before

Perfect Memory

PG-13

Ron/Hermione and other relationships yet to be decided.

Chapter Seven: "Though it's not what we wanted before"

_The Past, Graduation Day_

Finally the day had arrived that so many Hogwarts students both dream of and dread. The day when they would no longer be children attending school, but adults thrust out into the real (and very dangerous) world. It was finally graduation day at Hogwarts.

Outside the castle, people were gathering for the Leaving Ceremony. Parents milled about, chatting excitedly about their children's accomplishments. There were quite a few reporters as well, but they had been confined to a press box for the event. Dumbledore didn't want them harassing the other guests. The sky was a pristine blue, with towering white clouds floating lazily past. Light sparkled across the lake, and the Giant Squid had disappeared to the bottom of the lake. The weather was warm, and would have been unbearably hot in long robes had it not been for the cooling charms attached to all of the chairs. Hagrid was lugging a large and rather cumbersome podium up stairs of the presentation stage, absently muttering to himself about how much trouble it was to be working in his best suit.

Inside the castle, there was a much more panic. Seventh-years had been confined to their dormitories for the time being. All the other students, of course, were long gone. Graduation was always one week after the train left Hogwarts, giving the seventh-years time to finish any last minute preparations that studying for their NEWTS might have prevented.

Up in the Gryffindor dormitory, Ron paced nervously in front of the unlit fireplace. Hermione was still upstairs getting ready, and Harry was slumped moodily in one of the over-stuffed chairs, reading and re-reading the worn sheet of parchment that was supposed to be his speech. It was covered in almost illegible handwriting, with numerous mark outs and several notes made along the sides and top. Harry had tried to write it last night, and unfortunately, what had seemed like brilliance last night was turning out to be drivel in the morning light.

Ron glanced at his friend, who was muttering to himself, angrily re-writing. After the incident at Hogsmeade, Harry had been even more reclusive than he had been in the past. Ron didn't know the whole story, although rumors had been flying all the way up to end-of-the-year feast. Hermione was being unusually tight-lipped about it as well. The generally accepted story was that Harry and Malfoy had started some sort of duel, and the Slytherin had cast an Unforgivable. Of course, that really didn't make sense—why would the blonde risk getting caught like that? In broad daylight, in the middle of Hogsmeade? It just made no sense. Ron wasn't a simple child any longer who would just swallow any story fed to him, and as much as he detested Draco, it was obvious the story was flawed.

Not that it particularly bothered Ron that the story was undoubtedly a half-lie. He was used to Harry lying to him and he had accepted that Hermione couldn't tell him everything. As for what was going on between Harry and Draco—it was obvious that tensions had reached new heights between the two after their last two duels. First half of Gryffindor and Slytherin hospitalized, now the use of Unforgivables…soon, very soon, one of them was going to die, and what scared Ron the most was that he wasn't sure which one he wanted to live.

Tugging at his black graduation robes embroidered with scarlet and gold, he glanced nervously towards the girls' dormitory for what felt like the millionth time. Where _was_ Hermione?

Up in the girl's dormitory, Hermione sat in front of a vanity mirror, expertly applying hair-care products to her frizzy hair to give her manageable, smooth curls.

Once her hair was finished with, she wiped her hands off on a stray towel and began on her makeup. Once, she would have stumbled through this and eventually given up in favor of Lavender doing it for her. But practice paid off, and after a year, she had it down to a science. So as she pulled out brushes and pads and tubes of color, she allowed her mind to drift.

She had taken the bag to the West Tower, just as Harry had asked. But when she had gone back the next morning, the bag was gone, probably taken by Harry that night and stashed somewhere safe.

By now, Hermione was quite sure she knew what had been in the bag. Small glass marbles, yes. But not just marbles. If she was correct (had she ever been wrong?) Harry had created a bag full of mini-wards. Just as he had attached a huge, complicated ward to the large glass orb that was meant for Ron, he had done the same on a much smaller scale for…whoever he gave the bag to.

It explained why he was always so drained after making wards; and why the spells had always seemed to take longer than they should have. All that time he had been creating not just one large spell, but multiple smaller ones as well. He had paid for every one of those damn marbles with a piece of his soul, though. Slowly but surely he had been spell-poisoning himself with the burden of excess wards. Who could have possibly been worth the risk of his life? Everyone involved in the Order had already been taken care of. Who outside the Order could have been so important to Harry? And it couldn't have been just one person, after all, it been a whole bag of those things…Hermione had the very bad feeling that she wasn't going to like a single one of those answers.

The last coat her "Persephone's Pomegranate" red lipstick completed her face, and she gracefully stood and retrieved the earrings that Harry had given her last Christmas. She remembered that _The Daily Prophet_ had somehow found out, and turned it into a huge issue. Something about her and Harry being a serious couple. It was so silly, really. After all, they were only earrings.

Of course, they were beautifully crafted, ordered from the finest jewelry shop in Diagon Alley and undoubtedly very expensive, since they were gold, ruby and diamond. When she had first opened the box, she had been shocked. Never had she expected such a present. She had tried to refuse them, but Harry had simply waved his hand differentially, citing money was not a problem and it was the least he could give her. When she had pressed the matter, he claimed he was tired and went back to bed.

So she kept them, realizing that when Harry said it was the least he could give her, what he meant was it was all he could give her, because she and Ron would never be able to have his love—at least, not any longer. Not since…_Not since Voldemort rose. Not since Sirius died. Not since the war started. Not since Harry_— she wrenched away her thoughts from that path. Today would be a happy day. She refused to worry about Harry's allegiances today. Today was her and Ron's day, her and all her classmates' day. Not Harry's. Not the war's.

She only rarely wore the earrings, since they annoyed Ron so, but she had to admit, her new engagement ring matched them beautifully. She wondered if Ron intended that. Once she had put on the earrings, she fished around in her cosmetics box for that small velvet box that she kept her engagement ring in. She hadn't worn it since that first day—she really didn't want anyone finding out until Ron and she had a handle on things. After all, the situation was difficult enough for Ron and her. But today was a special occasion, and everyone would be too busy to really notice the small sparkle on her hand.

Carefully slipping it onto her left ring finger, she pulled on a sensible pair of black pumps and gave herself one last look in the mirror.

"You look boo-tee-ful," spoke the mirror, with a strangely Bulgarian accent. Hermione smiled wistfully, and made a mental note to herself, as she did every time the mirror spoke to her, to change the voice of the mirror to something less upsetting. Victor had died a year ago now, working in the Quidditch off-season to end Voldemort's increasing influence in his country.

Hermione turned and headed out of the girl's dormitory, ignoring the giggles of excitement coming from the opposite corner of the room, and took to the stairs. She would forget to change the mirror's voice, of course, and the next time she stood in front of it, she would once again receive that shock of memory. Some part of her realized that she didn't want to lose this last link with the first boy that had ever fancied her, but (perhaps because she was so in love with Ron) she wasn't able to admit this to herself. So she just kept promising herself and she just kept conveniently forgetting.

Ron's face broke into a huge smile as he watched Hermione descend the stairs from the girls' dormitory. Her caramel-coloured curls cascaded across her shoulders, secured away from her face by a delicate gold clasp. Her strawberries-and-cream complexion was as radiant as ever, and her lips were stained a darker pink. Normally, Hermione was pretty. But as Ron stared at her now, he realized that it was not a girl that he was in love with, but a woman, and she was _beautiful._

"Hermione," rumbled Ron, his voice a bit deeper than usual, "You're gorgeous."

She blushed but managed to cheekily reply, "I know. You clean up quite nicely yourself."

Still scowling from the re-crafting of his speech, Harry looked up at the couple. Ron had slipped an arm around Hermione's waist and they were looking at each other like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Dean and Seamus had also looked up and were seemingly dumbfounded by the idea of Ron and Hermione being affectionate towards each other.

Harry rolled his eyes at them and snapped out, "As if it hadn't been obvious for years. Stick your eyes back in your heads." Both boys hurriedly looked away and began talking to each other in low voices.

At the sound of Harry's voice, Hermione and Ron startled and turned toward the Gryffindor heir. Harry stood up, carefully scrutinizing Hermione from head to toe. "Well, Hermione, I must say, you look boo-tee-ful," he said, pronouncing the last word with a Bulgarian accent, his eyes burning into Hermione's, full of knowledge that he should have never had. Hermione's eyes widened, but she said nothing, and Ron, not noticing Hermione's reaction, wrote the accent off to Harry's increasingly eccentric personality.

In the distance, bells tolled the hour. It was time for the Leaving Ceremony to begin.

With a great deal of fanfare, the seventh years had processed in by name, same as they had in their first year. Diplomas had been received, cameras flashed. The top student of every class was announced. Surprisingly enough, Hermione was only the top student in a few classes—Transfiguration and Charms as well as some obscure high-level class about ritualized spell-casting. Draco Malfoy took top marks for Potions, Neville for Herbology, and despite his difficulties with teachers, Harry managed to pull top marks in Defense against the Dark Arts. The rest of the classes went to Ravenclaws, with the exception of Divination, whose top student was a Hufflepuff.

Next came top student overall—this, unsurprisingly, went to Hermione. The second top student was actually Blaise Zabini. Lucius Malfoy looked angry enough to swallow his cane at the news. Not only had a mudblood beaten out his son, but another, lesser Slytherin? Draco, however, looked like he couldn't have cared less, clapping for Blaise, looking haughtily bored while doing so. Then came four speeches, which were given by four different students who represented each of the houses. Gryffindor's speech was last.

As Harry walked up the steps to the stage, the audience fell silent. Finally arriving at the podium, he pulled out his speech from the pocket of his robe and set down. He stared at it for a moment, before suddenly tossing it aside. It burned as it fell to the ground. Harry looked out across the many familiar faces and began to speak.

"That was my speech. I didn't attempt to write it until last night. I kept thinking I had all the time in the world to do it, that there were more important things to be done. And then it came down to last night and I was caught unprepared so I did my best to finish it all, to craft something poignant and intelligent that could wrap up so neatly all of my difficulty and joy that I have experienced in the past seven years here at Hogwarts. Last night, I thought I had done a decent job.

"I was wrong, of course. I re-read my speech this morning and realized it was horrible. I couldn't present it to all of you. It was trite and stupid and said all the things that I thought people might want to hear, which happen to also be things that I would never want to hear myself say.

"I attempted to rewrite it, but I just couldn't. So I stand before you now, completely unprepared, not knowing what to say next. But you know what? That seems to be how I get through most of my toughest obstacles, so I figure that I'll manage somehow," he gave a weak laugh, and the audience laughed lightly with him.

Growing somber again, he began. "Over these past seven years, I have grown from a boy to a man. I have faced off against death over and over again. I have had friends and family die in front of my very eyes, unable to save them. This war cost me my health, my sanity, and perhaps my very soul."

Harry paused and turned to look at the press box, where reporters' dictation quills were scribbling furiously. He smiled regretfully and continued.

"I do not know what history will say about the type of person I was. But I can hope, that at the very least, textbooks will say that I did not hesitate to make that final sacrifice.

"I know," he said, as his emerald green eyes swept over his classmates, "that many of you are worried about what kind of world you are being sent into. I know many of you have already chosen sides. Even in Gryffindor—and yes, in Slytherin, too—the lines are not clear cut. I don't know if we will all live to see the end of this war, but I will not stand by and do nothing but hope for the best. I will act. I will destroy Voldemort and end this war, no matter the cost to me. I've never had it easy, and I expect this to be no different.

"But before I step off this stage and into the rest of my life—however long that may be—I want to thank all of you. For all of your time and commitment to this school, whether or not our agendas have agreed, all of you made the experience worth the trouble. For those you who caused the trouble to begin with," Harry's eyes briefly rested on Draco; not long enough for anyone but Draco himself to realize the look, before he was back to scanning the rest of the crowd, "it would have been much less interesting without you. And most of all, I would like to thank Gryffindor…"

After the ceremony was over, there were endless amounts of pictures to be taken. After pictures, came interviews:

"As heir to the Malfoy fortune, do you have any plans to work now that you've graduated?"

"Mr. Potter, we've heard that you've had several offers from well-known Quidditch teams…"

"Dumbledore, is it true that you will be hiring several students to take over for retiring staff?

And after interviews were over, it was time for games and fun. Most students chatted excitedly and exchanged information to stay in contact after they went their separate ways, younger siblings raced across the grassy lawns in energetic games of tag. As the sun dipped low, everyone was called into the Great Hall for the last feast they would have at Hogwarts student tables.

The house elves had prepared a feast to remember. It was an elegant meal, but delicious as well. Students and parents alike flitted from table to table, socializing and laughing.

Midway into the meal, Ron took Hermione's hand under the table and squeezed it. She turned and smiled at him, hoping he would lean over and whisper in her ear sweet nothings, or, perhaps more likely, for him to lean over and whisper in her ear to pass the gravy.

But Ron surprised her and did neither. "Hermione, Harry's up to something," he whispered.

"What?" She asked, confused, but her question was answered as Harry stood up and raised his wand, muttering a vague spell.

Ron covered his face with his hands and muttered just loud enough for Harry to hear. "Mate, please don't do anything that I'm going regret."

Harry just clapped a hand onto Ron's shoulder and grinned. When he finally spoke, he was addressing the entire hall, and his magically enhanced voice carried clearly across to everyone.

"I believe I'd had the spotlight on me a bit too long. I'd now like to take the opportunity to shift everyone's attention to Ron and Hermione, my best friends since first year. We've had our ups and downs, but I couldn't have asked for better companions to stand at my side. It's not easy being my friend, but they've not abandoned me, and I can't think for two people more deserving of happiness," he smiled down at his two friends, and raised his goblet.

"Which is why I would like to propose a toast to my two best friends," he raised his goblet a bit higher, giving his most charming smile, and waited for the rest of the Great Hall to raise theirs. The majority of the Slytherins were about to abstain when Draco Malfoy, with a cynical smirk on his face, raised his goblet almost mockingly. The rest of the Slytherin Court glanced around nervously to their parents before following suit, affixing copy-cat smirks to their own faces, unsure of what game their ice-prince was playing.

Harry smiled at the assembly of raised goblets and continued. "To Ron and Hermione—congratulations on your engagement and may your future together be filled with love and hope."

There was dead silence for a moment or two before Neville blushingly stood and stuttered out, "T-to Ron an-an-and Her—Hermione."

To which the rest of the guests quickly responded, "To Ron and Hermione!" and eagerly knocked their goblets against their neighbors.

As soon as the toast was completed, the great hall erupted into gossip. Ron and Hermione, engaged! While it shouldn't have come as a surprise, considering their close friendship, the Daily Prophet had been promoting the idea that Harry and Hermione were the couple. It was quite shocking to hear Harry so willingly give up his supposed true love to his best friend. Lavender leaned over excitedly to the Patil twins and eagerly whispered with them, not so subtly pointing over to Hermione and then Harry.

Hermione blushed, recalling Lavender seeing her in the hall with Harry, after the wards had been finished. She had the sinking feeling that Ron was going to hear soon enough Lavender's tinted version of what happened. _Why can't things ever go how I plan them? Why must boys be so **stupid**?_ Although, even as she asked the question, she wasn't sure if she was talking about Ron or Harry. Maybe both.

At that moment, Molly and Arthur Weasley choose to fling themselves at the couple, Molly blubbering her happiness and Arthur all proud smiles. Charlie and Bill were on their heels, and Ginny hurriedly embraced Hermione, squealing out how "Isn't it great, we're going to be sisters!"

Ideas held by the Order seemed to have been forgotten, and for this night at least, there would only be happiness. Congratulations would have hounded the couple all night, if it weren't for the band striking up, signaling that the dance portion of the evening had started. Ron and Hermione took refuge on the dance floor, enjoying the peace that an elegant waltz provided.

Hermione, of course, knew how to dance and was all grace, while Ron spent the first few minutes of the dance staring at the floor and trying to avoid Hermione's feet. Ron wasn't an awkward boy anymore though, so drawing on the quiet but strong confidence he had gathered in his maturity, he followed Hermione's steps. By the third go-around the floor, he had matched himself to Hermione, and the couple was earning admiring looks from those still sitting at the tables.

Blaise leaned over towards Draco, the soft puff of his breath tickling Draco's pale cheek as he whispered. "Even you must admit they look splendid together. Who would have ever thought the mud-blood and the Weasel would have ever grown up to be so good-looking?"

Draco showed no expression, but Blaise could tell the Slytherin Prince was tense, and for his own health he leaned away. When Draco finally smiled, it was razor blade thin, and every bit as cutting. "Blaise, my fellow, you would do well to watch your words."

Blaise's eyes widened with the fear that he had somehow offended the leader of his house. "But Draco, I was only speaking of aesthetics! Surely you understand that my words are innocent."

The aristocrat slid off the bench and stood with the natural grace that only a Malfoy could have. Everyone else looked awkward as they clambered over the long benches of the house tables, but Draco always exited as smoothly as though he was sitting in his own personal chair.

"Innocent? You know as well as I do, _old friend,_ that innocence is a trait Slytherins are born without; a quality of luxury that only the other houses can seem to afford. As much as I loathe admitting it, money can't buy everything." With that he walked towards the door. Suddenly, he stopped, as if suddenly remembering something. Turning back towards Blaise, he said, "Do me a favor?"

Blaise bit back his instinctive reply of 'What's in it for me?' and cut it off at "What?"

"If they ask, tell my parents that I went for a stroll to clear my head. I'll be back soon enough."

"Whatever you say, Draco," muttered Blaise.

"I know," was Draco's reply, but by the time the words registered in Blaise's mind, he was gone.

"Hermione, let's take a rest. We've danced four songs in a row. C'mon, you sit down and I'll get us something to drink."

Hermione smiled, her face flushed from the exercise, and she laughed. "Don't you dare, Ron Weasley! You're not leaving me to suffer at the hands of the public. _You_ can go sit down and answer questions about our engagement. Really, Harry couldn't have picked a worse time to out us. All these people! Not to mention the nosy reporters." With that, she pushed her way through the crowd towards the refreshment table.

Ron nodded in an absent-minded fashion, scanning the room for shaggy back hair out of habit. He blinked, suddenly realizing what he was doing. How many months had it been now since he had started keeping an eye out for Harry, as if any moment the boy might explode? Which brought him to his second realization—Harry was not in the room.

Instinctively, Ron turned towards the Slytherin table to look for Draco Malfoy. But the blond heir was nowhere to be found. Malfoy's favorite tag-along, Zambini, was standing over by where the Slytherin parents were sitting, speaking to Malfoy Sr., who was listening intently, his brow furrowed.

Finally, the pale man shook his head and waved the tall boy away, his icy eyes staring towards one of the corridors. It looked as though he was going to stand up and rush off, but then Mrs. Malfoy turned to him, drawing him into a conversation with the Parkinsons. Blaise wandered off unhappily and sat down near Milicent, half-heartedly engaging in conversation with her.

_Malfoy…Malfoy's missing—ten galleons says he's headed down that corridor—Harry's missing, too, which equals one very bad combination._ The last time Harry and Draco met up, Unforgivables had been let fly. Now that they were free from the worry of being expelled, there was no telling what the two of them could be up to.

Ron turned and quickly caught up with Hermione, glancing around nervously to see if anyone else had noticed the troublemaker's disappearance.

"Ron? What's wrong?" asked Hermione, her young face lined with worry.

"It's Harry," he said quickly. "I can't find him."

"Oh," replied Hermione, tension easing out of her face. "Well, I wouldn't worry about that. It was difficult to convince him even to attend our graduation, remember? I'm not surprised he left early."

"But 'Mione—"

"It's okay; he's most likely collapsed in his favorite chair up in the West Tower. He probably ducked out to avoid the fallout over that announcement of his. Some Gryffindor," she said, give a short, harsh laugh.

"Hermione, listen to me! Malfoy's missing too, and I'm betting it's not a coincidence."

In an instant, Hermione's entire expression and stance went through several changes. She slipped easily from the role of "laughing fiancé" to "worried mother-hen" to "self-assured Order member". Giving a tense smile, she frowned. "So Malfoy's missing as well? Then I guess you better go and find them, hm? Don't worry; I'll hold everything together here."

He smiled, wanting to kiss her, but force of habit keeping him from it. Hermione seemed to understand though, and standing on the tips of her toes, she reached up and cupped his face in her hands, gently kissing him. The kiss tasted like strawberries and held the promise of "soon".

When she pulled back, she gave a mischievous smile. "We don't have to sneak around anymore, remember?"

Ron felt his muscles loosen a bit. "I'll have to thank Harry for that."

She nodded seriously. "Why don't you go and tell him now?"

"I think I will," and with that, he slipped through the crowd, unnoticed by everyone except his lover—and one other person, whose starlight blue eyes burned with concealed intentions.

Ron had no clues which way Harry and Draco had gone, other than that it was out the side corridor of the Great Hall. He simply went whatever way he felt was best, letting instinct guide him, as it so often had before, to his place by Harry's side.

He had been walking for at least ten minutes, up stairs and around and around until he felt that he must have been doubling back towards the Great Hall, when he heard the voices. Or more accurately, one voice, little more than a muffled echo. Likely a distant voice that was yelling—you knew that it should have been much louder than you were hearing it.

So Ron crept through the passage ways, following the echo as it increased in volume. Down a narrow moon-lit hallway, until it was clear the voice screaming was Harry. Once he realized that, he paused, unsure if he wanted to continue. There was no way he would be able to handle the two polar opposites. In a clean duel, he would have been evenly matched with Malfoy, but the Slytherin would never leave a duel up to chance. Harry's screams stopped, and Ron gathered his courage and kept on in the direction he had heard them. He was Harry's second, and it was a matter of friendship that he back up Harry.

A little farther up, Harry's screams continued, and Ron stopped again, realizing that pure rage filled the Gryffindor prince's voice—not pain or fear. Rage so consuming that Ron paused out of simple surprise. Once again, though, when Harry fell silent, Ron reminded himself of his duty and continued onward.

As Ron crept up to the doorway of a deserted classroom, he realized that he could hear the distant din of the Great Hall, which was closer than he had thought. _I guess I did double back, then. And the music and dance is loud enough to cover Harry_'_s voice._ The door to the classroom had been left ajar, so Ron could clearly see Harry and Draco through the space between the door and the frame of the door.

Draco was standing very still in the middle of the room, his head turned away from the doorway and towards the window on the opposite side of the room. His wand hung limply in his hand, pointed at the floor. Ron thought for a moment that he had been petrified, he held so still—but no, there was no magic holding him, only the force of Harry's words.

Harry was stalking around the room, shaking with rage. His wand was in hand, but it was clear that he had forgotten it was there, as his wild gestures were just spasms of anger, not an attempt at wand work. He was yelling again, loud enough that it was a wonder his vocal chords didn't tear.

"HOW DARE YOU!" He roared at Draco. "YOU DARE TO IMPLY—IT JUST SICKENS ME! I SHOULD KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND!"

Quicker than Ron could comprehend the situation, Harry had leveled his wand at Draco's chest. Ron was at a loss for what to do. If he stormed in now, that wand would just as quickly be leveled at his own heart. He sat frozen in indecision, terrified that Harry was about to do the one thing that would destroy all their futures: Commit murder.

"This doesn't strengthen your argument," Draco muttered, as he slowly turned his face from the window to meet Harry's gaze. "Would you do it, Potter?" He gave a soft laugh. "After everything, this is how you would have it end?"

"Yes!" Hissed Harry in reply. "Yes, this is how I would have it end! All of it, all their plans, blown to pieces! He wouldn't expect that, now would He?"

Draco shook his head. "I think you don't even know which 'He' you are referring to. Look at me. You know that it doesn't end this way. You _know._"

"NO, I FUCKING DON'T KNOW! I DON'T FUCKING KNOW ANYTHING!" Harry roared in reply, jabbing the point of his wand into Draco's chest, as if he planned to stab him through with the stick.

Draco remained still, unfazed by the outburst. Harry and Draco stood toe-to-toe, Harry two inches taller, shaggy black hair brushing against silver-white strands as Harry's head drooped.

Nothing more was said; they simply stood in silence. Gradually, Harry's shoulders relaxed, and then his arms, allowing his wand tip to trail down Draco's chest until his arm hung limply at his side.

To Ron, the boys were uncomfortably close, mere inches separating them. Harry's whole body slumped over Malfoy's, but never touched him. They were practically breathing the same air.

Ron had once walked in on his brother, Bill, having sex with Fleur. He had been shocked and embarrassed, and hadn't been able to look either of them in the eye for the rest of the week.

But in the end, it was just sex. It was understandable, even expected from a couple like Bill and Fleur. They were both so good looking and carefree and just damn cool…

What Ron was witnessing now, between Harry and Malfoy, was something completely different. The boys were fully clothed and weren't even touching, but as Ron watched them through the crack at the doorframe, he began to burn with shame for invading something that was so obviously private. Whatever was going on between the two boys, Ron realized, was more intimate than sex, more significant than friendship. He didn't have a name for it, a word to describe it, but he understood that it was not for his eyes.

Quietly, he rose from the door and crept away. When he got back to the party, he told Hermione that Harry was asleep in the red chair up in the West Tower. It was not the first time he had lied to Hermione, but it was the first time the lie had mattered. It would not be the last.

The argument between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy was no different from all the other arguments in the past few months. There were questions of loyalty, demands for information, requests for spells, and always the word games: taunting, prodding, sneering, jeering.

But in the end, it came down to a pack of marbles.

The miniature wards were Harry's gift to Draco, the ultimate promise, the perfect way to prove purity of intentions. The Slytherin prince had opened the bag and plucked out one, a tiny crystal orb containing a thousand tiny silver lights. It glowed cold between his fingers, his skin growing numb against the icy effects of the ward. He dropped it back into the bag.

"The bag's charmed, I suppose?" Asked Malfoy, noticing that no cold seeped through the velvet pouch.

"The material is. I bought it off Madame Madkins, custom made with the same material Russian wizards use to keep out the cold." He didn't bother to mention how much it cost. Malfoy didn't care how much things cost; after all, it was only money, and for a Malfoy, money was never a concern.

Draco stared at the black velvet bag, his brow furrowing. "You didn't just work standard ward magic on this, did you? These wards are incredibly powerful, there's something different about them, I can sense it." He opened the bag again, pouring several into his hand, wincing at the bitter cold against his palm. He peered closely at them. "These are fine-tuned to not just me; there's one for Pansy, and that's obviously Blaise."

Harry nodded. "If I hadn't provided that snake-court of yours with some protection, I knew you'd just give away all yours."

"I see." Malfoy put them all back into the back and pulled the drawstring tight. "Potter, I know."

"What?"

"Don't bother to deny it; I know. I know what these wards are made of. You're a big fool that I thought."

"I don't—"

"Your soul! You literally ripped out a piece of your soul to make these! Each one of these ward orbs has a piece of your soul!" Malfoy cradled the bag with both hands. He wanted to toss the bag against the far wall in a dramatic show of his rejection of Harry's dangerous actions, but he couldn't, not with the realization that each of those were a little fragments of _Harry Potter_, that the very stuff that made Harry Potter who he was—his honesty, courage, passion, impulsiveness, casual and almost unnoticed arrogance, his fiery temper—a little piece of all that was dropped into each of those little marbles. "It's disgusting; I can't believe you would actually try something like this."

"You ungrateful bastard," hissed Harry, and he attempted to snatch back the bag. Draco easily evaded Harry's clumsy grab and slipped the bag into a pocket underneath his robes.

"I'm not ungrateful. These wards will keep my people alive, and I am in your debt for that. But the sacrifice you offered up in order to create these—the sacrifice was too great."

"It's my soul, Malfoy. I can do what I like with it. It's not doing me any use just sitting there," he sneered, pointing to his chest where his heart rested.

Draco took a step back, shocked by the mask of condescending anger Harry's face had become. It was a perfect copy of his sneer, and it was very strange to be on the receiving end. When had Harry picked up such an ugly, very _Slytherin_ expression?

Draco pulled his wand out of his robes and smoothly twirled it between his fingers. "Such a careless attitude towards something so important an only reflect two things: ignorance or disillusionment."

Harry's mouth twisted up in the corners, a parody of a smile. "I know more than enough about the risks, Malfoy, but we're in a war. The end justifies the means."

Draco shook his head. "You sound like him."

Four little words, but the effect on Harry was instantaneous. He swung his fist, snapping Draco's head to the side before the Slytherin could realize what was happening.

Draco's whole body froze up, his head not moving to turn back toward Harry; instead, he gazed out the window with the moonlight spilling through. Harry hadn't attacked him in ages; not they had started working together. The shock of Harry hurting him held him place; it held him silent.

Harry was screaming at him now, roaring in anger. The words held no sharpness, though. Harry knew a thousand things to say to him that would slice through his every defense and leave him broken on the floor; Harry understood Draco's flaws and fears better than anyone. But Harry said none of those things, used none of his advantages. Instead, he rained down a thoughtless parade of blunt words that amounted to little more than self-righteous anger and childish insults.

"HOW DARE YOU!" He roared at Draco. "YOU DARE TO IMPLY—IT JUST SICKENS ME! I SHOULD KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND!"

And then Harry did something that hadn't happened since sixth year. He pointed his wand right at Draco. Draco did not need to look in his direction to know it; his senses were sharp enough. What he didn't know was if the words of his execution sat on Harry's tongue, just waiting to tumble out, if the next sensation he would experience would be his skin splitting open. He remembered the blood, the pain…

How was this fear any different from what he experienced daily at the hands of his Lord?

"This doesn't strengthen your argument," Draco muttered, as he slowly turned his face from the window to meet Harry's gaze. "Would you do it, Potter?" He gave a soft laugh. "After everything, this is how you would have it end?" His words were calm and measured; if Harry really was unstable enough to do away with him now, any hostility would push him over the edge.

"Yes!" Hissed Harry in reply. "Yes, this is how I would have it end! All of it, all their plans, blown to pieces! He wouldn't expect that, now would He?"

Draco shook his head, his expression carefully neutral to hide his confusion over Harry's breakdown. "I think you don't even know which 'He' you are referring to. Look at me. You know that it doesn't end this way. You _know._"

"NO, I FUCKING DON'T KNOW! I DON'T FUCKING KNOW ANYTHING!" Harry roared in reply, jabbing the point of his wand into Draco's chest painfully; the Slytherin knew his skin was bruising.

Draco remained still, trying to appear unfazed by Harry's out-of-control actions. Harry moved closer to him, and the Slytherin was aware of Harry's head leaning towards his; it was if every inch of his body had suddenly tuned into Harry. He could even feel the feather-light touch of Harry's messy jet strands brushing against his own. Their foreheads were only a few inches apart, and Draco could feel the dig of the wand against his ribs lighten.

Nothing more was said; they simply stood in silence. The wand trailed down his chest, his stomach, and then fell away, leaving a trail of electric ache and need across his sensitive skin. Harry exhaled, and Draco finally let go of a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It rattled out of him, and he could feel it tremble across his lips. He imagined air swirling out from his lungs, and now Harry was breathing in, Draco's breath entering Harry's mouth, moving across his tongue, spilling into his lungs…Then Harry exhaled as Draco breathed in, and it all was reversed.

They stayed like that until the music in the Great Hall ended, late into the night. Draco was the first to step away.

"My father will be expecting me."

Harry swayed unsteadily, his head swimming with the sudden absence of Draco's warmth. "Yeah. Ron and 'Mione…they'll be looking for me."

"Good-bye, Potter," murmured Draco, but there was no animosity in his voice.

Harry looked away, out the windows to the setting moon. He couldn't stand the sight of people walking away from him. "You know, Draco, you need to know that I—"

But as he turned around, he realized that Draco was gone.

Author's note: For now, I will continue this story with no reference to the Half-Blood Prince. Slowly, though, I am updating all my chapters so they will be consistent with the canon storyline by JK Rowling. Which brings me to the question: Is it better to pretend HBP never happened, or change the story? Changing means that you might have to go back and re-read for clarity, because the previous story was (or was going to be) heavily dependent on Dumbledore and the trio remaining at Hogwarts. It's your call.

Oh, and what Harry was about to tell Draco—that was pretty important. Oh well, poor Draco.


End file.
